Track 07

Chapter One - Hell

You hate it. There is no other word to describe the feeling you have each evening. Hate. You hate all of these people. These drunk people, to whom you have to be nice like an angel. But you're not really an angel and you don't wanna be. But if you're not, you'd get no money.

So here you are: every evening smiling, filling glasses with alcohol, mixing drinks. You hate the music. The base makes your ears ring, despite of the ear plugs you're wearing. It always sounds the same, you can not recognize when one song ends and another starts. It's all just one big blur of indetectable sounds. You can't make out any other instruments than the base. And you hate it.

Normally you love music, but this... this is not music. It's just noise.

You hate the air. The dull air that's filled with smoke. It's filling you up and there's nothing you can do about it. You feel the smoke biting into your lungs. It never seems to end. Everyday when you come home, you can barely speak because your throat is so sore.

You hate every single guy in the room. Every single one of them. Half of them is so drunk, they can't even stand up straight and the other half is trying to buy you drinks. You! The bartender! Don't they know you could just take whatever you want while working? Or are they just ignorant and try to win you over with money and alcohol? Either way, you hate them.

But there is nothing you can do about it. You need this job. How else would you pay rent, and buy groceries. Just normal adult stuff. You hate being an adult - so much responsibility.

And this responsibility is the reason you still put on your sneakers each night at 9 pm, grab your keys and head out the door, towards the club.

The Bangtan.

You don't know who came up with this name, but it's basically the only cool thing about the club. Sounds kinda badass, like a gun being fired.

You arrive at the front door, take the keys out of your jacket, open the door and enter the gates of hell.